Socialization (And How It Can Lead To Amazing Things)
by A Garbage Can't
Summary: The only thing she changed in her routine was the amount of time she spent talking to other people. She wasn't sure how that lead to her meeting some of the chillest people ever, but it did. She wasn't complaining. This is a Game Grumps fanfiction,with a healthy helping of Barry/OC friendship, and maybe a smidge of romance.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I don't own the Game Grumps channel.

The distinctive smells of pine wood and mouse shit fill my nose the moment I open the glass cage. I feel a tickle in my nose, the kind that foreshadows a wet and loud sneeze. I love my job, I really do, but a pet store is not a good place for anyone allergic to fur and dust. I concentrate on holding it in as I scoop the stale wood into a trash bin I had brought with me. After all the old stuff is removed, I add a few scoops of somewhat fresher shavings to the container and do my best to distribute them evenly over the ground. The mice skitter away from my gloved hands fearfully, hiding in their sleeping area where they considered themselves safe. When I finish, I withdraw my hands, only to have to stick them back in a moment later. One of the more fearless rodents makes an escape attempt, dashing towards the open side panel. I grab him and place him towards the opposite side, giving myself enough time to shut the panel. I make a subtle check of my surroundings to make sure I'm alone.

"Sorry little fella, not today. Trust me, It's safer where you are. There's a whole lot of kids with their pets in here, and those critters are liable to eat you." I snicker. "And those pets aren't good news, either."

I close the bag of wood shavings and toss my plastic gloves in the bin. As always, I check to make sure the panel has been shut all the way and is locked. I grabbed the bin and the bag and make my way towards the storage room. I place the bag on it's shelf, and the bin in the corner. At the end of the day, the contents of the bin would be dumped into a larger bin behind the building, labeled as being for _biological waste material_. Us employees lovingly refer to it as the Crap Can.

I scrub my hands in the storage room's sink before heading back to the rest of the store. Since I had been wearing my ridiculously large plastic gloves, my hands hadn't actually been exposed to anything, but regulations were regulations. Even if I didn't have mild OCPD making me want to wash my hands repeatedly after being even that close to feces, I would have to if I didn't want to risk losing my job. And losing this job was down there with eating my cat on the list of things I didn't want to do.

What really set this job apart from minimum wage jobs I had had in the past was the absolutely tiny amount of human interaction it required. Unlike working in fast food or retail, the majority of the job was not talking to people and pandering to customers. Most days, all I really did was feed animals, give fresh water, clean tanks and cages, and restock shelves. Occasionally I'd have to replace a bulb in a reptile tank, or clean after someone's pet had an accident. Because most of the customers we had were not first-time owners, they usually knew exactly what they wanted or needed without assistance from an employee.

"Hey, um, excuse me? Hi."

Of course, not all days go flawlessly as far as avoiding the customers. As I exit the back area, a guy who looks to be in his mid-twenties walked up to me. He has scruffy facial hair and medium length brown hair with a peculiar bleached streak in it. He seemed to be trying and failing to hide his anxiety.

"How can I help you?" After I give the polite response ingrained in all sales employees during their training, the dude bursts into a loud and upset explanation of his situation.

"Okay, so I brought my cat in because he needs a new collar and shit, right? And I had him on this leash thing. But then there was this huge monster of a dog-" He motions back in the direction he came from. I note, with no small amount of humour, that the only dog visible in the area he is motioning to is a Boston Terrier. I also note the lack of a cat or leash in the man's hands.

"-and it barked and my cat got away because I wasn't fucking paying attention and the leash slipped. And now I can't find him, and Suzy's going to be really mad at me." I nod and look around the store, thinking. It wasn't the first time a pet had gotten away from it's owner, but usually the pet was a dog. Dogs were loud, stupid, and easily found because they could only move on the ground. Cats were an entirely different type of beast, both literally and metaphorically. They followed the same physical laws as a liquid, and were small enough that they could hide in almost any space. They had the ability to climb as well, and made barely any noise. There were almost no limits to where a cat determined to escape it's owner could hide.

"Okay, what's his name, and what does he look like? I'll do my best to help." A big, dopey grin lights up his face. He apparently has no idea of the hell we were probably in for, trying to find a single cat in a pet store, but I don't want to break the news to him.

"So his name's Mochi-" I try my very best not to judge him. It's not the weirdest pet name I've heard by far, especially considering that I've always named my pets after dead mathematicians, but it was not what I expected. "-and he's grey and white and just fucking floofy as shit all over."

I nod. We began our search at the front of the store, checking aisle after aisle carefully for a glimpse of the stray cat. The guy calls the cat's name every few minutes, while I ask one of my fellow employees to keep an eye out for any pets without owners. We make our way through the entire store silently, afraid we'll scare Mochi off if we ever run into him. The cat is nowhere to be seen by the time we've finished checking every nook and cranny, which the store had more of than a package of english muffins, and his owner seems to be fairly close to panicking. I'm fairly frustrated myself, since we'd been searching fruitlessly for almost an hour, and finally I decide that I have had enough.

"I'm through with this bullshit. The cat must be moving. There is no way we can check the entire store at once." I growl. The customer seems to agree with me, pushing his bangs back with one hand in frustration. I'm about to resort to pulling the fire alarm when I get a better idea. "Or maybe there is."

I take one of the ladders used for restocking shelves and push it towards the center of the store. The man trails behind me, looking confused as to what I am planning. He is not confused for long, as I quickly began ascending the damn thing. I fly up the ladder like a squirrel up a tree, and don't stop until my head is high above the shelves, giving me a bird's eye view of most of the store.

"Anything?" He called up hopefully. I ignore him and scan the floors below. I turn my head just in time to see a feather duster-like tail disappear behind the fish tanks.

"Over by the fish!" I call out, shimmying back down the ladder almost as quickly as I ascended. Unfortunately, my foot catches under one of the last few steps, throwing off my balance and flinging me headfirst towards the ground. I close my eyes, anticipating the pain that would come in the next second. Sure enough, my face hits the tiles with a loud smack. I don't try to get up right away, instead laying there and drowning in my pain and embarrassment. I lie still for a solid three seconds before the incredibly awkward silence is broken.

"...Are you alright?"

I sigh and roll onto my back, staring blankly up at the dude. "Oh, yes. Absolutely. It tickled, really."

He looks as if he is unsure whether or not it is appropriate to laugh. He offers me a hand, which I accept. I rub my nose with the back of my hand, and pull it away to see a tiny bit of blood smudged across the smooth skin. I am most definitely going to look like someone punched me when my face has had time to bruise.

"Thanks. And actually, no. I am not alright. My face hurts like a motherfucker. Let's just go get your fucking cat and get you out of here before something else potentially deadly happens to my person." I take a few steps before I freeze, realizing how rude that last statement sounded to someone unfamiliar with my particular brand of humor. I turn to face the guy to apologise. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong, I-"

"It's absolutely fine. That's nothing compared to shit I say to my friends." I nod, and we share a brief smile before continuing our trek towards the hiding place of the cat. Our pace is not quite a run, but it's fast enough that we arrive there in no time at all. I glance behind the fish tanks and see the cat seated just out of my reach in what would be an uncomfortably tight place if he were almost any other animal. The gap that we are standing at appears to be the only way in or out, so the cat has no escape route. Unfortunately, we seem to have to wait for the cat to decide to exit on his own.

"Mochi!" I call quietly, and click my tongue at him. His only response is a disinterested glance in my direction before returning his gaze to the colorful aquatic creatures in front of him. " _Mochi_ \- oh, this isn't working. Dude, you try. You're his owner."

"Yeah, no problem." I move to the side and allow him full access to the gap. "Mochi! C'mere, you little guy. _Mochi_!Mochi. Mo-chi. Shit." The cat has not moved a single inch. The owner runs his hands through his hair in frustration. He makes eye contact with me, silently requesting assistance. I shrug and shove my hands into my back pockets, to show that I had no ideas. I feel something dry and flaky against my fingertips as I do so. I withdraw my hand and look at it, noticing tiny green flakes stuck to it. I reach back into my pocket and collect a pinch of whatever the stuff was. Bringing it up to my face, I pick out a couple pieces of pocket lint and determine that it is definitely some kind of plant. I notice the dude sending me a really weird look.

"What are you- Oh." I look back at the dried plant. " _Oh_. This- This isn't weed. At least, I hope not, because I don't do that shit. And I don't think anyone else has worn these pants." I sniffed my fingers, and flicked my tongue out to taste a bit of the leaves. "Catnip." I determined.

"Why is there catnip in your pants? Is that normal? I mean, like, weed is one thing. But catnip?" I fix him with the most deadpan look I can muster.

"I'm actually a cat-person from Neptune. My baggy pants are used to hide my furry tail. I was sent here on a mission to conquer your planet. Now that you are aware of my mission, I will have to kill you."

"I thought cats landed on their feet."

"Okay, fuck you. That was uncalled for."

I'm really surprised that I am getting on so well with someone I've just met. I normally have trouble holding a conversation with my close friends, let alone strangers. "Okay, so maybe I'm not a cat person from Neptune. Maybe I just have a cat at home."

"That would make a lot more sense." I nod my agreement and hold my arm as far as it will go into the gap. It takes a bit, but eventually I feel something fuzzy nuzzle against my fingers. I hold still for a moment before scooping up the cat, nestling him securely in my arms where he can't escape.

"Do you want him back, or should I hang onto him while you grab the stuff you need so he doesn't escape again? Or, you know, if you decide that you don't want him any more, I know this chinese restaurant-"

He laughs. "Nah, I think I've got him now. I'm Arin, by the way. I just realized I never introduced myself."

"Ah, well, I'm John. You know, in case the nametag didn't give it away."

"Awesome. Thanks for this, by the way. I know chasing cats and falling off of ladders probably isn't something you do every day here."

"Only when the cat's owner is a complete damsel in distress. It was fun, well, mostly. I could have lived without introducing my face to the floor, but what can you do, really." I laugh awkwardly, the fact that I was talking to someone I knew almost nothing about finally catching up to me. "Um, well, if that's all you need, I... I should get back to work. Not that I'm not having an absolute blast talking to you but- uh-" I gesture wildly around the store.

"I get that, it's fine. I could just lose Mochi again, but there are probably responsibilities you have to get to. I don't want to be that guy." The very idea sends a flash of panic through me, and judging from his laughter, he definitely notices.

"Yes. You are absolutely correct." I turn as if to walk away, before looking back at Arin. "Oh, I almost forgot." I plaster the fakest smile I possibly can on my face. "Have a _wonderful_ day."

His laugh sticks with me for the rest of my shift, along with the thought that his voice seemed familiar somehow.

AN: This is my first fanfiction on this account, and my first Grumpfic in general. I have the next four chapters already written, so I'm going to be adding a couple more in this first update. If they go over well, I'll be sure to add more. I'm not sure what my regular update schedule will be, so don't hold your breath or anything between updates. If you see some flaw in the story that I overlooked, PLEASE bring my attention to it. 95 percent of the time I will not have done it intentionally. I am also welcoming any suggestions as to how this story will develop, but I'll only listen to them if they don't veer too far from my original plans.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Disclaimer- I don't own the Grump channel.

"Honey, I'm home!" I call out as I enter my apartment. I pause for a moment as I await a response. As expected, none came. Other than my cat, who never responds when I call him, I live alone in my small apartment. I don't know why I always announce my arrival when I know I'm alone, but I do it anyways. Maybe it's to fill the silence.

As soon as the door locks, I rush into my room to change out of my uniform. I really like the color blue and all, but the collar of the shirt is always uncomfortably stiff and itchy, and the shirt itself is too tight around the chest. The pet store uniform is the same regardless of gender, so the only people comfortable in them are men and very, very flat-chested women. I'm always happy to toss it into the hamper at the end of the day. I'm even happier to change into a raggedy-ass band t-shirt and boxers afterwards.

Before long, I am laying limply on the couch playing Tetris on my laptop. It isn't terribly late, just about seven, but I'm too exhausted to do anything that takes actual brainpower. It has been a couple weeks since my fantastic fuck-up with the ladder, and the bruise on my face has faded enough that I no longer have to use makeup to cover it. It's still tender, but it is a hardly noticeable shade of yellowish-brown, nothing like the splotchy blue and red it had been. It had taken several days before my coworkers at the garage had accepted that I hadn't been attacked by anyone other than Isaac Newton and his laws of gravity. If they hadn't known perfectly well that I wasn't in a relationship, they would probably have gone on a crusade against some imagined abusive boyfriend.

I smile as I think about the guys. It had been a bit awkward at first, being one of the only women working in the garage, but everyone had been polite and welcomed me to the crew. Of course the first few months had been filled with the occasional flirting in my direction, but eventually things had settled down and I became almost like a sister to most of them. Those that still harbored romantic feelings for me had long since accepted that I am not looking for a relationship.

Well, actually, I am, but not the same kind that they want. I enjoy physical contact, but as soon as the partner starts pushing for sex, the relationship starts crumbling. It wasn't that the idea of sex makes me uncomfortable, I had canoodled with my fair share of both men and women in college, I just don't enjoy it the way everyone else apparently does. In my opinion, sex is rather like black licorice. I'll eat it occasionally if the situation calls for it, and don't really _hate_ the flavor, but I won't go out of her way to get a big bag of it. And if I had to choose between it and something with a softer, more pleasant flavor, I would choose the other thing without hesitation. That's about as far as I'm willing to go with the comparison.

Of course, my partners in the past had been willing to hold off on the intercourse for a while, for my sake, but it never lasted for more than a few weeks before they were pushing for sex again. The relationships had always ended relatively quickly, whether from my partners breaking it off because they wanted someone who was going to satisfy their needs, or from me breaking it off because of my guilt at my partner's obvious unhappiness. Eventually I had given up on finding someone who could deal with my lack of sexual appetite. It has been almost three years since my last relationship, and aside from casual hugs from friends and colleagues, three years since I have had prolonged physical contact with another human may be no problem for some people, but I am an extremely cuddly person, and this absence of warmth has had an effect on me.

I curl into myself almost unnoticably as I bring my attention back to my computer screen. A blue "T" shaped piece is falling slowly down the screen.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. Tap. Taptaptaptap- "Shit." I watched as the block landed one spot away from it's intended location, blocking an entire column of empty spaces that I was intending to fill with a straight piece. If I would be willing to put in some effort, my mistake could easily be fixed in four or five moves. I'm not. The computer closed with a click. It's just then that I notice I am being watched rather intently.

"Why, hello there Pythagoras. You're being more social than usual." He blinks, then wandered into the kitchen.

"Of course. You weren't enjoying my pleasant company. You just wanted to know if I was going to feed you." I push myself up off of the couch with a sigh and follow him into the other room. He sat in front of his food dish and watched as I measured out a scoop of kibble for him. The orange tabby immediately digs in, shoving his face into the bowl as if he hadn't eaten in days. I flop onto my stomach on the linoleum and watch him eat.

"My goodness, such manners. What a gentleman." I pretend to swoon. He ignores me and just keeps on eating.

When he finally finishes eating, he gives me a single glance before wandering off somewhere to do whatever it is he does when I'm not watching. I'm pretty sure he's warming up to me. Last year he wouldn't even tolerate my presence. I had rescued him from a shelter as a kitten two years ago, as an answer to my lonliness. He then spent the next three months hiding from me, and the months after that were spent shunning me. I would have gotten another cat, but my landlord has a one pet limit and I don't have the heart to put Pythagoras back in a shelter just because he's less affectionate than I want him to be.

I consider what I can do next. I don't have enough energy for games, and I'm not tired enough to sleep. I don't really want to leave the apartment either, since I'm already dressed down for the night.

"I guess I could draw..."

I'm not a great artist, but drawing is something I do to pass the time. I'd heard from many people that art is something that you improve at the more you do it, so I work at it whenever I get the chance. Whenever a funny idea comes into my head, or a memory just won't go away, or I want to remember something, I'll sketch it out in one of my many pads. Sometimes I'll go back and neaten or color the sketch, but they often stay as shitty pencil marks. My best pieces of art are cartoons, but my pads contain everything from anime characters to labeled machine diagrams.

I grab a sketchbook and a pencil and move back to the couch. Like always when I lack inspiration, I start by drawing a pageful of dicks. For some strange reason, repeating patterns help me think. The penis part just makes the page funny to look at later. Every single one of my sketchbooks has at least three pages, front and back, of dick art. I'm only drawing for about five minutes before I get an idea of what I should sketch.

When I finish an hour later, I'm rather proud. The previously blank page in my sketchbook now contains two knights jousting with enormous dildos. Not my best work aesthetic-wise, but the idea behind it is clever enough that it can kinda get away with it. Even better, now that I have managed to work off all of my remaining energy, my brain is more than willing to go to sleep for the night. I replace my sketchpad in its rightful place and prepare for bed.

AN- Hey again. It seems a bit excessive to add the same message I put in that last chapter down here, since they'll be going up at the same time, so I won't. If you don't know what I'm talking about, just flip back and check it out. Thanks for taking the time to read this note, instead of just flipping to the next chapter that I know is up because I'm uploading it five minutes after I finish with this message.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer- I don't own the Game Grumps channel.

I wake up just four hours later, and stay under the covers for another half hour before accepting that I wasn't going to get any more sleep. I groan and check the time; it's not even two in the morning yet. I take my time getting dressed and cleaned up somewhat. I still have five hours before I have to go in for work, so I need to find some way to waste time. I know that there's a 24-hour coffee shop a couple blocks away, and although I dislike coffee, the employees there are friendly. I had gone there many times before at equally unusual hours.

Before I leave my apartment, I check to make sure that I have everything put on correctly and that I'm not forgetting a bra or my wallet or anything. It's something that was ingrained in me at the age of twelve, after I left for school and didn't realize until I was on the bus that I had forgotten both my shoes and backpack. Satisfied that everything was alright, I exit into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind me.

On the walk from my building to the shop, I had plenty of time to think. Very few people walked the street at this hour, even in LA. I considered my inability to get a full nights sleep. I had been like this since I was a teenager; if I managed to get six hours of sleep a night, it was miraculous. I usually managed to get at least three, but there are nights when I can't even manage that. I wasn't sure why my ability to sleep was so utterly fucked, but nothing I did seem to help. Not working myself to exhaustion, not soothing music, not even taking melatonin supplements. I did have prescription strength sleeping meds, but I had been warned repeatedly not to become overly dependent on them. Because of that, I used them only when my exhaustion became a hindrance to my daily life.

My inability to sleep did have certain benefits, however. I had more time in the day to do things I would otherwise have no time for, like utterly destroy ass in video games. My current focus was on Skyrim, which I had bought only recently. I had not progressed very far in the main storyline, due to both my inability to navigate the terrain without accidentally breaking the game and my desire to finish every side quest I came across. One of my online friends had been stunned to learn that, although I needed his help finding the path to the Greybeards, I had already leveled my Orc up to level 46.

I stop my train of thought as I near the shop. A bell tinkles just above my head as I walk through the door. As I had expected, it was empty except for the employees. The woman at the register was almost always here when I came in, and I smiled at her as I began checking out the pastry shelf. I had yet to remember her name, but we chatted occasionally to pass the time when there were no other customers that she needed to help. Since I never came in during the normal breakfast or lunch rushes, this was quite often the case.

"Good morning!" I tell her cheerfully, having made my decision of what I wanted. She scowls good-naturedly at me.

"It's three AM. This is not morning. This is hell."

"Ah, but I'm afraid you are incorrect. This is, _technically_ , morning." I grin at her, knowing from previous conversations that she dislikes this shift. She groans and pokes my chest with a single finger.

"How are you so cheerful?" She seems extremely frustrated with my chipper mood, so I decide to tease her one last time.

"I'm a morning person." She reaches over the counter to slap my shoulder, and we both laugh quietly.

"What can I get you _this fine morning_?" I rattle off my usual order to her, and wonder if perhaps I should get myself a business card with my order in small print under my name and phone number.

"I'd like an Earl Grey tea, large, with two teabags instead of one. One cream, no sugars." She writes something down on a pad of paper before looking up and meeting my eyes.

"One day you're going to realize that this is a coffee shop. It may not be tomorrow, or next week, or next month, but the day will come. And you will be stunned at the realization, and your misconception that this is in fact a tea shop will be fractured. And I will laugh." She picks up the paper and turns towards her machines as she rants. I interrupt her, smiling.

"And a cranberry scone with that, as well." She gives me a faux-disgusted look and goes to make my tea muttering what sounds suspiciously like "Old woman". This comment on my tastes makes me breathe a short laugh, as it's not the first time someone has told me that. While she fixes my drink, the bell tinkles as another customer enters. He looks about as tired as a person normally would this time of day. Since (Rachel? Reagan?) is busy, one of the other employees comes to take his order. I can't help but listen as he orders.

"Just... Just get me something large and highly caffinated. I'm not picky." He slumps forward onto the counter, yawning. The employee goes to make him something, probably some type of espresso. I watch, concerned, as the customer starts falling asleep where he stands.

"Hey, are you alright?" My voice is quiet as I ask, so at first I'm not sure if he heard me. He doesn't move for a minute, making it appear as though he has fallen asleep, then slowly looks at me. He looks absolutely dead on his feet. It takes a second for his bleary eyes to focus on my face.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm alright. Just-" He yawned. "-tired."

I nod in understanding. The employee who took my order (Rachelle, I determine from her nametag) hands me my tea and scone. I pay her, but remain at the counter with the tired man. We stand there in silence for a minute as I sip carefully at the boiling liquid in my cup, gauging the temperature. I breathe in the peppery fumes coming from the cup and exhale in contentment. There's something about the smell of Earl Grey that makes it different from other types of black teas.

"Are you going to be in a hurry after you get your cup, or are you going to sit down?" I ask the almost-zombie. He looks surprised, so I explained. "There are very few people to talk to this time of day that aren't drug dealers or alcoholics." This answers gets a tiny smile out of him.

"I was planning on sitting down. You're welcome to join me, but I can't promise I'll be good conversation." The employee hands him his coffee, and I wait until he pays before asking him if he had any preferences as to where we sit. It takes a bit longer than usual, since he spends several minutes squinting into his wallet trying to find his credit card. After he did finally find it and hands it to the cashier, he grabs his coffee and would have walked off without it if not for the employee calling him back.

He shrugs when I finally ask him, so I lead him to a table near the back that has two armchairs facing each other. It's one of my favorite places to sit when I come in, because it's right next to a vent. The hot air keeps the seats warm, even when no one is sitting in them.

I sit my breakfast down on the little round table between the chairs. "I'm John." I tell him, offering my hand. He shakes it.

"Barry." I let go of his hand and pick up my drink, watching as he does the same. He nestles the coffee close to his chest as he waits for it to cool down to a consumable temperature.

"So, Barry, what brings you to a coffee shop at this late hour?" His eyes are slightly bloodshot, suggesting a sleepless night rather than an early morning.

"I'm here to get coffee." I accept this simple answer, since he looks as if he belongs six feet under rather than in the armchair he's currently seated in.

"I never would have guessed. I, myself, am here for their rather sub-par tea." He laughs drowsily, not quite making eye contact with me. His eyes keep drifting off into the distance, as if he is unable to focus on one thing for too long.

I take this chance to take in his appearance. He is about average height, although this still means he is several inches taller than I am at my meager 5 feet five inches. Although he's scruffy with lack of sleep, he has a neatly trimmed beard that suits his round facial structure, and short dark hair. His sapphire blue eyes are oddly feminine-looking compared to his otherwise manly features, and although he is wearing long sleeves, I can tell he has at least some muscle tone. I look back to his face and flush slightly when I realize he is staring at me, one eyebrow cocked.

"I swear I wasn't checking you out." Even though I'm telling the truth, I find myself forcing back a furious blush. He's definitely attractive, there's no doubt about that, but that's not the reason I had been eying him. As someone who keeps artistic journals rather than literary ones, I've gotten into a habit of doing my best to memorize new details so that I can sketch them later. Since he's new, and I have already memorized this coffee shop, I need to take in the details of him so that I can draw him. I need to think of a way I can explain myself without seeming weird. "I keep an artistic journal at home, that I draw scenes from my day in. I was planning on drawing this," I gesture around me, "when I got home later. I was trying to figure out your proportions."

Now both of his eyebrows are up. His cup is in his lap, clasped between his hands. "You're an artist?"

"Only vaguely. I'm more of a garbage cartoonist than anything else." He seems more awake now that he has had some coffee. He's less slumped over than he had been previously, and his eyes aren't as glazed. "I'm not good enough to make a career of any type out of it."

"That's pretty cool. I have a couple friends who are artists. I, on the other hand, draw like a potato." He makes a scribbling motion, acting as if he held a pen. My mouth twitches into a grin.

"I'm sure you can draw at least marginally better than a potato. Well, you know about my cartooning. Do you have any hobbies?" He thinks for a second before answering.

"Well, I play the guitar pretty well. I'm learning how to play a ukulele, too. Other than that, I edit videos. That's not really a hobby so much as my job, though." He nods after he answers, as if to confirm his statement.

"That's awesome. I played the xylophone in middle school. I was the best in my section. The only one, too, coincidentally." I take a gulp of my tea unthinkingly. "Fuck!" I cough out, clutching my throat. The tea is still extremely hot, and the liquid fire just burned every nerve in its path down to my stomach.

Barry was immediately out of his seat. "Are you alright?" He asks me, eyes wide with concern. I nod and wave him back into his seat as I scarf down a mouthful of my cold scone to ease the pain somewhat. He sits down, but looks wide awake from the surprise. I recover pretty quickly.

"I'm fine, sorry. Just burned myself. My tea was too hot." I explain, my voice slightly raspy. He relaxes, and I wipe crumbs and spilled tea off off my mouth. We're silent for a few minutes, sipping at our drinks very carefully. I quietly continue the conversation. "So, you're a video editor? That's cool."

"Yeah, it's a pretty fun job. The guys I work with are a lot of fun, too." He grins and takes another sip of his coffee. "What do you do? Work-wise, I mean."

"I'm a mechanic. I honestly could never understand computer stuff, outside of what I need to understand to play video games. I'm a lot better having actual physical things in front of me I can fix." His eyes lit up.

"You play video games? What kind of stuff do you like?"

"I like games that are kind of open world, you know? I don't like being forced to follow a set storyline. Arcade style games are pretty awesome, too. What kind of games do you play?"

"Strategy games are pretty cool, but really I'll play anything that isn't a horror game. They give me the jeebs." He hugs himself and shivers dramatically, making me laugh.

"Dude, I totally agree with you there. I played a horror game once; never again, I tell you." We tap our now almost empty cups together in a mock toast. I take one last swig of my drink and set it down. He glances at the teabag tags hanging over the edge.

"You're in a coffee shop at three in the morning drinking tea? How very hipster of you." His face is perfectly straight as he says this, making it hard to tell if he's joking. I decide he is, and add my own two cents.

"Indeed. In fact, I am _so_ hipster, I drank my tea _before it was cool_." We stare at each other for a solid minute, lips twitching, before bursting into giggles. The giggling slows to a stop after a few seconds, until we make eye contact again. The giggles mutate into full laughs, which don't cease for a while. Our faces are red from laughing.

"That was so stupid. _Why was that so funny_?" I gasp out, my face buried in my hands. Barry shrugs and wipes a tear from his eye.

"Oh, get a room!" Rachelle calls from behind the counter. I glance at Barry, a spark of mischief in my green eyes.

"You mean we can't just use the couch over there? It looks perfectly serviceable."

Barry looks stunned for just a second before he realizes that I was messing with her. He joins in.

"Well, I guess the bathroom will have to do then. Shall we?" He stands and offers me his arm. I accept, and we take a few steps towards the restroom before we hear Rachelle call out behind us.

"Don't even think about it, assholes." Barry and I once more break into giggles. We walk back to our seats, laughing.

"For a second there I was afraid I had taken it too far." I admit, still grinning. Barry shakes his head.

"Nah. Trust me, you should hear some of the stuff we joke about at work. I'm pretty sure everyone there has told me about how much they want to bone me slash be boned by me at least twice. If that kind of joke bothered me, I'd be in trouble."

"Your work environment seems pretty chill." He nods absently, finishing up his coffee. He stands up and stretches, his joints making audible pops

"Speaking of work, I should be getting back. They sent me out to get coffee over an hour ago. They probably think I've drowned in my cup or something." I stand up as well, reaching into my back pocket for my phone.

"It was awesome meeting you, Barry. Could I get your number? It'd be great if we could meet up sometime when you're not deliriously tired and I'm not nursing second degree burns." His face lights up with a smile so large his eyes scrunch up.

"Oh yeah, absolutely! We could... well, not get a coffee, um..." He bites his lip in thought as he types his number into a new contact on my phone. "How about we meet up and play video games?" I sling an arm over his shoulder and walk with him to the counter, where he ordered four more coffees to go.

"Absolutely." I clear my throat, "Barry, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

My comment was spoken at the same time that Rachelle handed him the tray of beverages, and his sudden laugh made him come close to spilling them. " _Casablanca_? Really?"

"It's a goddamn classic. Did you know that Humphrey Bogart has, like, thirty different questions about him in the version of _Trivial Pursuit_ from the 70s? I know more about him than I ever wanted to."

"No I didn't. Why do _you_ know that?" His curious inquiry makes me grin guiltily.

"I memorized all the cards in the box my dad had so that I could thoroughly trample him when we played." My admission made him stop halfway through the door to look at me.

"You _memorized_ all the cards in a _Trivial Pursuit_ box?" I shrug nonchalantly and walk with him outside the shop. He hands me the coffees for a brief moment so that he can unlock his car door, then sets them down in the passenger seat. Once it's all settled, he asks me, "Do you need a ride?"

I decline his offer. "Nah, I'm within walking distance to my place. Thanks for the offer though. I'll text you sometime soon so that we can figure out a time for that video game, alright?"

He agrees, and we say brief goodbyes. He starts his car and makes his way down the street, and I begin the walk back to my apartment, thinking about the interesting friend I had made in Barry.

AN- And the Impeccable Barry is introduced. This is absolutely my longest chapter yet, but probably won't be the longest in the entire story. I'm writing this listening to Ninja Sex Party's latest album, which you really need to buy if you haven't because this shit is my new jam. It is absolutely amazing. Review, I guess, if only to make some kind of complaint about my advertising.


End file.
